


Plasticity

by YumGrapeJuice



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Flower Shop, Anxiety, But only a bit, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Supernatural Elements, Swearing, a lot is up to interpretation basically, but it's ok it gets better, i am hoping this counts as that ahaha, soft, there is quite a bit of that whoop, this is vague af and i apologize in advance i couldn't help it, this isn't really your typical flower shop au i'll say that much
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-15
Updated: 2021-02-15
Packaged: 2021-03-15 12:48:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29436309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YumGrapeJuice/pseuds/YumGrapeJuice
Summary: And like that, the man was by the door, holding onto his plant with one hand, the other perched on the handle. His fingers tensed around the ceramic for a blink, eyes shutting with a wince, before he took a breath, relaxed, and locked stares again.“What’s your name, anyway?” he asked.Once more, silence stretched.He opened his mouth to answer, but no sound came. It was as if his already empty mind had come to a halt.Name. A name. His name. Him.He needed to say something. Anything. The guy’s expression was growing tenser by the second, along with his own raising heartbeat. Something, anything, what was that on his tongue, prickling the edge of his consciousness, something like a—“...Dream,” he breathed out, surprising himself.Or, an amnesic Dream tends to a greenhouse stuck in time. Enter George.
Relationships: Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)
Comments: 30
Kudos: 104
Collections: mcyt writers valentine's day blind date event!





	Plasticity

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ship_On_The_Sea](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ship_On_The_Sea/gifts).



> This is part of a mcyt valentine's day event that @netheritedream on tumblr organized! We had to write a fic for our blind date based on the tropes they chose :)) My blind date was Ship_On_The_Sea (or @squishyyyghost on tumblr), and the tropes were flowershop au and friends to lovers :) Squish, I'll admit, I took quite a bit of creative liberty with the tropes. A lot, actually. Perhaps too much, but! I hope you'll enjoy it regardless :')) This is very painfully me honestly, I used to write these sort of fics a lot, it was kind of my thing for awhile, so! i laid out my soul for u squish
> 
> Yeahhh just,,, have fun reading ahaha

He had thought it was a decoration piece. 

(The man shook some sort of white powder from his brown hair as he stepped inside, sighing.)

He could have sworn it was. 

(There was more of the white on his shoulders, but he paid it no mind as he closed the door behind him.)

Sure, he hadn’t ever tested that, but everything here was nothing but decorations, so why would it be any different?

(Pocketing his hands, the man glanced around.)

Why would the door actually _work_?

Their eyes met. The man froze for a beat and gave a slow, small wave. A quiet sound shattered the silence, and his mind scrambled to catch up, flipping through whatever was collecting dust in his head until finally, the dots connected.

“Hello?”

It was a greeting.

Alright.

What?

The man lifted a brow up. He spoke again, and this time, he found the meaning quicker.

“You okay?”

He opened his mouth. For a bit, there was no sound. Then, 

“What?”

(It was around him and in his head, too. What a weird thing.)

The man tensed, face contorting. A moment later, he glanced to the side, frowning, and shook his head. When he looked back, that neutral expression was back, and he gestured to him. 

“Your pot is overflowing.”

He snapped his head back to the shelf. The small flower he had been watering was drowning, the water trickling down its ceramic container. Startled, he let go of the can and jumped at the loud clang as it hit the tiles.

A new sound caught his attention and he looked back at the man whose lips were quirked upwards, arms folded. “Did I scare you or something?” His voice had an odd ring to it, as if accented.

“No,” he said, face scrunching up.

He wasn’t that easy to scare.

Right?

“Alright,” the man conceded. He had an odd tone to his voice. “I’m going to just… look around, then.”

He nodded, because he wasn’t sure what he was supposed to say to that. He wasn’t sure what he was supposed to say in general. Instead, he glanced down to the discarded watering can and the small puddle by his feet. He should… probably clean that.

Discreetly, he sneaked a look at the man. His eyes were wandering over the dome’s windows, a frown twisting his lips, before he trailed down the rows of plants around him. He approached one of the low tables, hand cupping his chin, and examined the small pots with those prickly plants that were always a nightmare to deal with. 

The man lifted his eyes then and their gazes met for a blink before he tore it back to the puddle by his feet.

He should clean it, and yet, his legs refused to move. As if the space, so vast and endless before, was now too small for him to breathe in.

This all was… a bit odd.

Finally, though, he forced his lungs to function and stepped away from the shelf. There were towels on the other side of the dome, he remembered. Had he ever used them for something like this before?

On autopilot, his body carried him to the cabinets on the other side of the dome and his hands rummaged through them for those towels. From farther away, he picked up the soft sound of footsteps, for only a second, before they stopped again. He looked over his shoulder, through the collage of leaves, and spotted the man by another table. Then, by a shelf.

He was looking through the plants. Through _his_ plants.

Now weirdly self-conscious, he made his way back with the cloth. The man had moved closer, and they once more locked eyes. This time, though, before he could look away again, the guy spoke:

“Do you sell these?” he asked, pointing to the greenery before him.

He wasn’t… sure how to respond to that.

Was he? Was he not?

The more the silence stretched, the tenser it got, until his mind flipped a coin and he nodded.

“Yeah.”

Because that was as much of a valid answer as “no”. The truth was somewhere in between.

“Oh, that’s cool. How much for this one?” He picked up one of the bigger prickly plants.

He could have sworn they had a name.

“Uh…” Or perhaps he should have settled on “no”. “How much... do you think?”

The man pulled a face at that. “Not sure if you’re trying to be coy or what.”

“I—No, I’m just curious. What you think. I mean, what do you think.”

He held in a cringe at that. God, he hadn’t spoken in so long and it showed.

He got an eye roll in response. “I don’t know, like ten? It’s a nice cactus.”

Cactus. Right. Prickly plants.

“Uh, yeah, sure, ten,” he said with a nod.

“You’re gonna sell it for what I say?”

Was that a bad thing? A weird thing?

He shrugged. “Why not?”

“That’s just dumb.” He paused. “...Can it be nine, then?”

Okay, so the guy wasn’t weirded out. Even if he chose to be huffy about it.

“Alright.”

“Eight?”

“Sure.”

“Five?”

“Okay.”

The man was openly staring at him by this point, eyes narrowed. An emotion was attached to it, but he couldn’t pinpoint what exactly it was. It made him shift his weight, though, fold and unfold his arms, it made every word that had left his lips feel wrong.

“What?” he finally asked, unable to take it any longer.

“I don’t…” the guy trailed off, pursing his lips. “That… is such a horrible way to run a shop. Do you even know what you’re doing?”

It was a fair question, one which the answer to was obvious from the start but having it said out loud made his insides twist in discomfort.

“Do you want the cactus or not?” he chose to say instead after the pause got too long.

The guy just blew a breath, breaking eye contact. “Sure.”

He carried the cactus to a counter by the door, placed it on top, and looked back at him expectedly. 

Not knowing what else to do, he followed.

After a bit of shuffling, the man took out some shiny coins from his pouch and placed them on the counter.

“I don’t have ten exactly, got any change?”

He, in fact, did not. “Uh, not really.”

“Great. What are we supposed to do, then?”

“You can just… buy it for less?”

“No, it’s ten.” He all but glared.

A beat of silence. “Want another plant?” he offered, somewhat sheepish.

The man sighed, and shook his head. “It’s fine.” He glanced up again, thoughtful. A weird look once again crossed his face. “Guess I’ll just have to… come back for that another time.”

It almost sounded like a question.

_Come back?_

As in, later? Again? 

He was too stunned to answer; the silence stretched out for too long, and the man grew visibly uncomfortable.

“Or not,” he murmured as he looked away, grasping the little cactus pot.

For some reason, that snapped him out of it, and he stammered, “A-Ah, no, yeah, that’s fine, yeah. Sure.” Then, after a pause, “Sorry.”

He was rewarded with a small quirk of the guy’s lips—a smile, his mind supplied—and a shrug.

“Don’t know what I’d want, though. Guess you’ll have to pick something for me yourself.”

It sounded like such a throwaway phrase, and yet once more his lungs struggled to work, something painful scraping against them.

“Uh, sure. Alright,” he spoke, clearing his throat. “I’ll—yeah. I’ll think about it.”

He nodded. “Good.”

And like that, the man was by the door, holding onto his plant with one hand, the other perched on the handle. His fingers tensed around the ceramic for a blink, eyes shutting with a wince, before he took a breath, relaxed, and locked stares again.

“What’s your name, anyway?” he asked.

Once again, silence stretched.

He opened his mouth to answer, but no sound came. It was as if his already empty mind had come to a halt.

Name. A name. His name. Him.

He needed to say something. Anything. The guy’s expression was growing tenser by the second, along with his own raising heartbeat. Something, anything, what was that on his tongue, prickling the edge of his consciousness, _something like a_ —

“...Dream,” he breathed out, surprising himself. 

Surprising them both, really, judging by the way the man’s eyes widened a fraction before settling back. His shoulders dropped and he cast another strained smile his way.

“That is… a very stupid name,” he said, and with it, disappeared beyond the door.

If he’d learned anything about this guy was that he was audacious.

Dream was trying so much, and he was making fun of him? That was just rude.

_Dream._

He jumped at the thought, startled.

A shaky chuckle left his lips, upsetting the heavy quiet, and he slapped a hand over his mouth.

Okay, well, this was something.

~~

Sounds weren’t exactly rare here. The snipping of shears, a running faucet, a filling watering can, soft footsteps and the occasional sigh filled the silence the majority of time. More often than it was necessary, frankly speaking. The quiet was just… louder without all this noise, and there was only so much he could bear.

That was him being overdramatic, obviously. Of course, he could stand silence. Nothing would happen if never again sound existed; he’d continue like before, and would barely notice it, probably. But there were only a few things he knew, and he knew he disliked the quietness, so he clung to it. For some reason. He couldn’t remember why, anymore, but hey. 

When there was no one to explain yourself to, it was okay to ignore some questions.

Besides, he could make it into a game. This cycle, he’d focus on the colors. On the shades of green, from the lightest to darkest, on the bulbs of soft yellow and petals of rich red. Alright, great, still the same. 

Now, touch. The cool can, lukewarm water, the feel of shears in his palm, the textures of leaves as he cut some off, the sturdy pots, a bit rough, the damp dirt.

The same, again. 

Still the same. 

The smells were the same, too. They mixed more than sounds or colors, and so it was always more fun to try distinguishing them. Even if he never got any further than last time. 

And, of course, the sounds. They brought a different sort of relief, and it was always nice when their cycle came.

Something had to fill his empty mind, after all. Noise was happy to volunteer.

One time, he dropped a plant saucer on accident and the ceramic shattered against the hard tiles, the pieces shooting in all directions. It had startled him at first— _startled! frightened! surprised!_ —but quickly he’d blinked the shock away, and instead let the crash replay, over and over, as he stared at the shards at his feet.

It’d been so loud. Unheard. For a moment, it—

He’d been tempted to break many things from that point. He never did, though.

He couldn’t remember why, anymore.

Point was, he knew what sounds to expect and what not to, and he found both comfort and— he found—

Yeah.

So when the sound of a door opening shattered the silence, Dream wasn’t exactly startled (he refused to be for the second time _no way_ ), but his heart nonetheless jumped to his throat. Quickly, he whipped around towards the entrance, dropping down the shears he’d been using, and took a few steps towards it before stopping himself.

The man walked through, this time without any white powder— _snow_ —on his head. He held onto the handle longer this time as he glanced around the place slowly, wary of something, before meeting Dream’s eyes. He looked more surprised than he had before, strangely enough. He kept looking off to a plant, a window, and always back to Dream, never losing that conflicted expression.

The silence was getting uncomfortable, so Dream forced his tongue to move, “Hi?”

The guy jumped a bit at that. He stuttered out something too quiet to hear before he exhaled a deep breath and his body settled. That strained smile returned.

“Uh, hi. I’ve come for that—plant.”

 _Plant plant plant—what plant which one_ —the shelf, on that other shelf, by the faucet, yes, okay.

“Oh!” he responded, several seconds too late. Nonetheless, he returned the smile. “Right, yeah, one moment!”

He turned on his heel and let his legs carry him through the maze of green until he reached it. It wasn't a prickly plant this time— _a cactus_ —and it was more colorful. Smaller, too. He wasn’t sure why, but he thought it’d be pretty enough. Pink, on the edge of purple, with many small petals on a long stem. Pretty enough.

“Here you go,” Dream said as he returned to the guy, the grin on his lips a bit shaky. He placed the pot on the same counter from before.

The way the guy’s brows lifted was almost as if he was taken aback. He hummed, examining the bloom.

“What is it?” he asked.

“It’s… a plant?”

The man snorted. “I know it’s a _plant_. I’m asking how it’s called.”

“Um. Flower?”

He looked up at Dream at that. “You work at a flower shop and don’t know what you’re selling?”

There he was again with those confusing proclamations. Dream was in too deep by now to voice that out loud, though.

“I—Do I need to?” he asked instead.

“How do you take care of it if you don’t know what it is?”

“What does it matter?” he said, defensive. “I don’t need to know what it is to—uh—I just know.”

“Okay, well, I don’t. How am _I_ supposed to know?”

Dream didn’t have an answer. Or, at least, he didn’t have a good answer.

“I can tell you about it,” he said with a shrug. “It’s not hard.”

Truth be told, he did not have any idea how to take care of different plants. He sort of only watered them, trimmed them, and sometimes gave stuff to their dirt. No one ever complained. No one ever asked for anything different. They were all fine with what he was doing, but something in the guy’s stare told him he shouldn’t say that.

“I suppose,” he drawled. “Go on, then.”

Dream hadn’t thought that far ahead.

“You, uh, you water it.”

“Wouldn’t have guessed. How often?”

“...Once per—day.” Maybe. Probably. That’d be fine, right?

“Uh huh. How much sunlight?”

“What?”

“Where do I put it? How much sun should it have?”

“Uh…”

The guy sighed, shaking his head, and straightened. “Nevermind, it’s fine. I’ll figure it out.”

He took the pot, and turned to the door.

Just like that?

“Wait,” Dream heard himself speak.

Stopping, he glanced over his shoulder. “Yes?”

He wasn’t good at thinking far ahead. Or thinking in general.

Awkwardly, he scratched his cheek. “Do you, uh, like it?” He gestured to plant.

“Oh.” The man glanced at it, then shrugged. “Sure.”

“Cause, I—I have different colors. If you’d want. I can show you.”

He looked like he wanted to say something, but instead he just cast a look towards the rest of the greenery. It wasn’t a no, so Dream took it as an invite to continue.

“Just… follow me. If you want.”

Without waiting for an answer, Dream turned and started heading to where the rest of those flowers sat, perhaps a bit quicker than necessary. To his relief, he heard those soft footsteps fall not too far behind.

“There’s this red, yellow, purple, blue, uh, not sure how this one’s called,” Dream spoke as he showcased the other flowers. “Yeah.”

“There’s a lot,” the guy remarked, his eyes gliding over the shelves of plants. Not really looking.

“I guess. See any other you like?”

He shook his head. “I like this one,” he said, tapping on the side of his pot.

That made Dream crack a smile, though he only realized it a second later. He covered it with a cough.

“Okay, that’s good. Um, that’s good. Glad you like it.”

“Still weird you don’t know how they’re called,” he said with a slight huff.

Dream licked his lips. There was an implication there, and he didn’t know if he wanted to chase it.

“I’ll figure it out for next time.” Dream heard the words leave his mouth.

Well, that answered that, then.

The man exhaled a short laugh, still not looking at him and instead gazing at the flowers. “Wow, just for me? How polite.”

Silence fell over them, as he continued to explore the rows of plants and Dream stared at the side of his face, waiting for their eyes to meet.

Eventually, they did, and Dream’s heart jumped to his throat as he blurted out, “What’s your name?”

The guy looked surprised at that. “My name? Why do you want to know that?”

“You asked for mine, so.”

“...Fair enough,” he murmured, glancing away with a small frown. His face relaxed and he sighed. “It’s George.”

Dream mouthed the word.

Somehow, it made sense.

“Do you always look at people like that?” the man, _George_ , asked, with a hint of edge.

“Like what?”

He scrunched up. “I don’t know. Weirdly.”

“Bad weirdly or good weirdly?”

George stared at him… weirdly.

“Whatever,” he muttered, stepping away from the rows of plants and back towards the exit.

Dream wanted to follow him, but he stayed rooted in his place. It was as if every other thing he said upset the guy. He wasn’t sure what he was doing wrong, and that made his heart sink. He wasn’t sure what he was doing, period.

“Bye,” he murmured, far too quiet to carry across the dome, as he watched George disappear beyond the door once more.

He needed to figure out how those flowers were called. Maybe George would like that. If he ever came back again. He didn’t look like he wanted to.

~~

He came back.

Dream wasn’t sure how much time had passed, given every moment was an eternity, but he could have sworn these eternities in waiting were longer. 

_God, that sounds so desperate_

He wasn’t. Desperate, that is. He wasn’t sure what he was, in truth, but he knew from the moment George had walked through that door, his mind had fixated on him and refused to let go. Maybe because there were finally new sounds and colors, new things to latch onto and retreat back to when everything else grew dull and monochrome, or maybe it was the door, the unmovable door, moved only by George. Realistically, it could have been anyone else, and he would have reacted that same. There wasn’t anything special about _George_ , what was special was the whole idea of something new.

Yeah. That thought Dream could work with.

So when George entered his glass dome again, that was what Dream focused on. How it was new and unexplored and how it stimulated his mind. Those thoughts were easy to work with. Those thoughts made sense.

Anything else didn’t, and he refused to entertain anything that didn’t.

There was too much that didn’t.

“How’s your hyacinth doing?” Dream asked once the greetings were out of the way and when George had done a silent, slow round around the place, eyes roaming over the greenery.

George looked at him then. “Hyacinth?”

Dream beamed in self-satisfaction. He’d been giddy about it for awhile. “The flower.”

“Oh. You figured out how it’s called.”

“Yup,” he said with a nod, bouncing on the balls of his feet. He clasped his hands behind his back and continued staring at George, keeping the grin up.

When George didn’t say anything and only continued looking at him, a confused expression on his face, Dream’s smile faltered a bit and his body stilled. George blinked at that before his shoulders tensed and he started stammering out incoherent words until finally settling, “That’s good! That’s great. Yeah, good job.”

Dream’s grin returned in full brightness at that. “Thank you!”

George pulled a small smile in return.

They didn’t talk much after that for awhile, as George continued to stroll around the dome without another word, stealing a glance at Dream once in awhile, but always averting his eyes once he’d catch Dream staring back. And that was sort of what he did the entire time, following George just a few steps behind, observing him. He’d been watering the plants more diligently now, giving them more nutrients, even moving some around to be more in the white light. They rewarded his efforts with prettier greens and more vibrant rainbows. Nicer to look at. Maybe they’d keep George for longer if they were like that. Maybe he wouldn’t be as upset with whatever Dream said if the flowers were beautiful enough.

“Do you not have anything else to do but follow me around?” George finally asked with a sigh, breaking the short eternities.

Dream’s shoulders dropped at that as he deflated, looking away from him. “Um, I guess so. Sorry.”

He turned around and headed in the opposite direction. He’d had—he could clean the basin, probably. Yeah, he hadn’t done that in awhile. There was probably some—dirt, maybe. Or he could check if the towels were dry. He’d dropped one of them on the ground accidentally, and it got a small smudge, so he rinsed it and rinsed it until his hands were raw. Yeah, he could—he could do all that.

Dream arrived at the tap, and yes, there were a few wet splotches of brown that hadn’t been washed away. He retrieved a sponge and scrubbed at them. Then scrubbed some more. Listening to the steps around the dome. He wanted to look over his shoulder, through the gallery of leaves, to spot that brown hair, but he forced his eyes to stay on the dirt. As he scrubbed.

He might eventually scrub the paint away, too. That’d give him something more to do, as well.

The footsteps stopped for a second and then another. He listened as they grew louder, slowly, until halting again next to him. Dream continued staring at the basin, scrubbing, not daring to glance up. He did have other things to do. He did, he did. He was just a distraction from the flowers, anyway. He knew that, he knew, he didn’t need to be told that.

So the quiet stretched.

“I’m sorry,” George spoke, softly, as if any louder would break something. He cleared his throat and took a breath. “I didn’t mean to be rude.”

“It’s okay,” Dream said, then shrugged. “You weren’t.”

Still, though, he kept his eyes down.

A pause dropped, and from his peripheral vision Dream saw George reach over and turn on the tap. The water poured out and washed away whatever flecks he’d been moving around.

“I have a friend whose birthday is coming up,” George said, stepping back. “They like plants, but aren’t that good at keeping them alive. Do you… have any recommendations?”

Dream left the drenched sponge in the basin and finally met George’s eyes.

“Yeah, maybe,” he responded and reached for a nearby towel. “Just let me…”

“Right.”

A high strung quiet followed them as Dream led them through the maze. Honestly, no, he didn’t know what to recommend, he took care of all his greenery the same way and none ever died. He couldn’t just say that, though. George expected him to know, so he’d roam around the shelves and racks until something came to him. What, out of these dozens, would be low maintenance if he had to guess?

He stopped by more medium sized ones, with long hardy leaves (or something). Finding the nicest one, he took the pot and all but shoved into George’s arms.

With a startled huff, George caught it and examined. “You know what this is?”

“Uh, yeah. Of course.”

“Of course.”

“Yup.”

“Well, then?” George looked at him, expectant.

Dream had hoped he wouldn’t ask. He held in a wince at it, though. Instead, he focused on the plant, scrutinizing it and racking his empty brain for any answer. There had to be _something_ there; he’d been around these things for forever, and he was sure he’d known about them at some point, but now…

“It’s fine if you—”

“I do,” Dream cut him off, maybe with more of a bite than necessary. He cringed at that, and blew a breath. “I do, it’s just—” He rubbed at his temple. ”—hard to think.”

“Don’t hurt yourself trying.”

Dream cast him a glare but brightened as he saw a ghost of a grin on George’s lips.

“It’s, uh, it’s—” He swallowed, biting his lip in concentration as he forced his mind to work. “It’s an—A—A—”

“A—A,” George mimicked, now visibly grinning, and Dream wanted to both shove him and continue struggling. 

“A-Aloe,” he pushed the word off his tongue. A sense of self-satisfaction bloomed. “Yeah, an aloe vera.”

George shifted the pot in his arms so that he could clap. “Good job. Knew you could do it.”

Even if it was meant to mock or tease, Dream couldn’t help but lighten.

“So, are you gonna take it?”

“Ah, yeah, sure.” He shrugged. “Looks nice enough.”

“Hope your friend likes it.”

George gave him a half-smile. “I’m sure they will.”

 _Please tell me if they did next time_ was left resting at the back of his throat.

He wouldn’t ask for it, he wouldn’t, he wouldn’t.

That’d sound desperate. Desperation scared people away.

Dream wouldn’t give him a reason to get scared away.

~~

Not for the first time Dream cursed his inability to socialize.

When George had borderline barreled through the door, hair ruffled and face flushed with irritation, Dream had been left stupefied for an embarrassing amount of time. He’d seen George get annoyed before, sure, but never to this extent, and he’d never _arrived_ annoyed. Given Dream’s comments were the thing that’d usually irk him, Dream found himself at an impasse.

“God, Dream, you wouldn’t _believe_ the audacity of some people,” George huffed as he paced through the dome where Dream was trimming a small tree.

“Uh… hi?”

George paused for a moment and gave him a weird look. “Yes, hi, Dream.”

“You okay?”

He ran a hand down his face, groaning. “No, I am thoroughly _annoyed_. On the tipping edge. About to punt someone. It’s absolutely horrible.”

Dream fiddled with the shears in his hands. “I’m… sorry to hear that?”

“You have no idea what I’m talking about, do you.”

“Well, you haven’t really given me much to go off on,” he remarked with a shrug.

George went up to him and flopped down next to where he was sitting. “People, Dream, people. They’re always a problem. I’d, too, rather talk to plants than people.”

Okay, hey, Dream didn’t talk to _plants_. He may have been in desperate need of interaction, but not _that_ desperate.

“You’re not a problem,” he said instead, biting down the whole plant comment.

“Thanks, Dream.” Then, after a moment of consideration and a moment of fiddling with his hands, “You’re not a problem either.”

Dream’s face lit up. “That’s the nicest thing you’ve said to me.”

“You make it sound as if I’m always rude,” George said with a roll of his eyes.

“No, I—I just meant I appreciate it.”

George exhaled an exasperated sigh, shaking his head. “Dream, your standards… are horribly low.”

Dream sputtered in response, indignation filling his chest. How was that his fault?

“You’re in a chatty mood today,” he grumbled, though there was no malice behind it. He went back to trimming the little tree. He wasn’t sure what he was doing, honestly, but it was something to keep his hands occupied and that was what mattered.

George was quiet for a few beats, observing Dream’s work. He shifted his body into a cross-legged position and hummed.

“I suppose,” he said with a shrug. “Just wanted to talk to you, I guess.”

Dream couldn’t keep himself from grinning as he cast him a side glance. “Awh, did you miss me?”

That earned him a weak shove. “Watch it, Dream. The door’s right there.”

A spark of fear ignited as he twisted around and latched onto George’s forearm, startling him.

“Wait, no, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it,” he blurted out, eyes wide.

George stared at him in surprise, blinking slowly, before he relaxed his body and he patted Dream’s hand.

“It’s okay, I didn’t mean it either,” he said, forcing out a light, albeit strained laugh. “I just got here, after all.”

Right, George had made a joke. Not serious.

Now embarrassed, Dream released his arm and looked away, heat spreading up his face. 

“Sorry,” he mumbled, fiddling with the shears. “I get a bit…”

“Yeah, no, I understand.” George fell silent. “Do you, uh, get any other visitors?”

That was a weird way to say it. A weird word to use. _Visitors_. As if he were locked up somewhere.

Well, wasn’t he?

He’d rather not pursue that line of thought.

“I see,” George said after Dream remained silent, taking it as an answer. “Would you want to?”

Dream scratched his cheek, looking anywhere but at George. “Um, I don’t know.” He swallowed; his mouth was drying out. “...I’m happy with just you, really.”

Immediately after saying it, he winced. He wanted to take it back, that was much too… something. Desperation wasn’t a good look, and he’d been trying so hard to not let it show these past several visits. 

Desperation wasn’t a good look, but he was never good at controlling his tongue. And the more George came to see him, the harder it was to keep it at bay.

“Well, of course, I’m the best company there is,” George responded a beat too late, nodding. “Seriously, you’re not missing out on much. Sa—Uh, my other friends can get really annoying, so. Imagine the rest who _aren’t_ my friends. Absolute nightmare.”

Dream laughed weakly at that. At least George wasn’t acting weirded out. That was a good sign, but shame nonetheless ate at his insides.

“Yeah, I—I’m—I’m totally fine with… Y’know, all of this—it’s fine,” Dream said, trying to sound confident. “I have my plants, and you—you come by sometimes, so! Yeah, it’s great.”

George picked at the stray leaves on the ground around the small tree.

“Do you ever go out, though?” he asked, slow.

Dream’s heart picked up. He licked his quickly drying lips as his eyes shot from one large window to the next. The white void stared back, blinding. Intense in its whiteness, suffocating in its nothingness. He tried to keep his gaze down, on the green, on the washed-out rows, on the shrivelling blossoms, but there was nowhere to look. It all burned, and he shut his eyes in fear of losing them.

“Dream?” he heard George speak, too loud, too clear, too close.

“Wh-Wh-Why would I—I don’t—I ha-have everything—I have everything here, I don’t need—” Dream stammered, trying to gulp down breaths, trying to stabilize his shaking voice. “I’m not—I’m fine here, I’m fine!”

“Dream, please, calm down,” George’s too crisp voice shred his nerves. A tentative hand reached out to touch his shoulder, and Dream recoiled as if scorched. His eyes flew open as he scrambled back, heaving, staring at George, not understanding what he was looking at, not understanding _the colors the sound the presence it’s wrong it’s wrong it shouldn’t be here he shouldn’t be here it’s wrong it’s wrong it doesn’t belong here_

It was so wrong, and someone was gasping in pain, they were standing up, stumbling, saying something, the sound that didn’t belong was all around him, and he could do nothing but reach for air, and shake, and shake, and shake

until silence settled, and the world slowed in its spinning.

What didn’t belong wasn’t there anymore.

Moments melted one after the other, and eventually, Dream could breathe again. He blinked the haziness away, buried his face in his hands and counted. Counted until he ran out of numbers. When faced with his surroundings once more, the green and yellow and red were back to their vibrancy. If a bit frayed, a bit off. 

He was alone. Of course he was alone.

He cursed himself, and cursed, and cursed.

~~

The thing about thirst was that it was relative. Or, rather, the intensity was. Technically, if you drank a teaspoon, you should be less thirsty, and technically, maybe you were, but now you became aware of it, more painfully than before. You could taste it for hours after it had long since dried, and now your tongue was more uncomfortable, lips more chapped. Now that you knew the flavor of water, you couldn’t think about anything else.

Loneliness wasn’t much different.

It could drive anyone over the edge.

So Dream couldn’t be blamed for his shifted perception, for the blurred lines in his head, for the lack of impulse control, not after eternities had passed. He couldn’t be blamed that, not even a moment after the door was shut, he had George in his arms, grasping for dear life, all air knocked out of him. A stunned second later, apologies were spilling from his lips, rushed and ungraceful, for everything he could think of, but still he didn’t pull away, body frozen. And when he felt arms wrap around him, too, he could have broken down right then and there. 

George spoke words of comfort, soft and quiet, as he held him. And maybe, if Dream let himself be indulgent for just a second, maybe George was clutching his clothes as well, maybe he also didn’t want to let go.

~~

Dream may have been not the best at noticing things, but at times the details got obvious enough even for him.

It’d been awhile since he first took note of George’s deteriorating mood, the growing bags under his eyes, the way he’d enter Dream’s domain on edge, sometimes more so than other times. George never spoke about it, and Dream never asked. He’d only try his best to remedy the atmosphere, and George would fall into it easily enough, so it worked out.

But he wasn’t sure how long the silence could last.

Especially when George showed up limping, with a gash above his brow, face twisted in pain. He looked shaken, unlike any time before, and he was quick to shut the door behind him. As if afraid it’d be seen.

Dream was by his side in an instant and helped him get over to the basin, where he sat him down and started rummaging through his cabinets for any fresh cloth. Once found, Dream poured warm water over it and knelt in front of him.

George hissed as Dream pressed a wet towel to the cut, gently wiping the blood away. Dream mumbled out an apology.

“Sorry to drop by like this,” George said with a sigh. He sounded tired, a tremble in his voice. “It was just, I don’t know, the first place to come to mind.”

“It’s okay,” Dream responded and smiled up at him. “I’m glad it did.”

George was silent for a beat. Looking to the side.

“It’ll probably sound weird, but there’s this—” His face scrunched up in thought. “—odd sense of safety about it, I guess. Maybe it’s the plants.”

Dream laughed. “Yeah, maybe.”

George glanced back at Dream. The look in his eyes made Dream pause. 

“Thank you, Dream,” he said, and it sounded so simple, a comment more than anything, and yet something in his chest twisted.

“For what?” he breathed out, scared to speak louder.

George opened his mouth to respond, but no words came. He shut his eyes, face scrunching up, before he sighed and dropped his shoulders. He shrugged.

“Just… for being here, I guess.”

Not for the first time, the whispers at the back of Dream’s head made him doubt the honesty of that.

Regardless, he beamed at George. “Of course.”

George smiled back at him.

Dream lowered the bloodied towel once it was all wiped away and threw it into the sink. The wound was such an ugly thing on George, even without the red, and a new emotion, something prickly and hot, sparked.

He tried to bite it down.

He’d noticed the empty sheaths, too.

“Sorry that I don’t have any, uh, medicine for that,” he said, sheepish, as he stood up.

George shook his head. “I don’t expect you to. Can’t imagine getting hurt by _plants_.”

“You’d be surprised.” Dream grinned. “Cactuses can be really mean.”

George rolled his eyes at that as he, too, got to his feet with a wince. “I’ll take your cactuses over people any day of the week.”

Another spark, stronger this time, harder to swallow.

“Yeah? Cactuses usually attack you for the hell of it. Are people like that, too?”

Keeping his voice level was a challenge, and he could see George taking notice of it.

He scoffed. “Oh sure, some of them at least.” He paused. “Some claim they just know better and therefore they have the right, but what’s the difference, really.”

Dream couldn’t suppress those sparks anymore as they took claim of his tongue and mind.

“Cactuses are brittle, though. Are people like that, too?”

At that, George looked up at him through narrowed eyes, and Dream met his stare, unyielding.

Then, George’s face broke into a smirk and he huffed. “Wow, alright, Dream, I see you. Getting a bit antsy, are we?”

Alright, well, that wasn’t the reaction Dream was expecting, but weirdly enough, it felt warm. Despite it, he crossed his arms, glaring.

“I don’t need a reason to punch someone for you,” he declared. “Or something else. Whoever did this to you deserves more than that.”

“What, a head for an eye?”

“If it’s your eye, yes.”

George laughed at that. “Alright, garden boy. Make sure not to lose your own in the process.”

Dream sputtered, indignant, “Hey, you—I can fight just fine! Give me an axe and I’ll behead all of ‘em!”

“Wow, didn’t know you were itching to commit mass genocide, Dream,” George said with a grin, arching his brows. “That kind of clashes with the whole plant aesthetic you have going for you.”

Dream proceeded to insist that his gardening activities have absolutely no effect on his physical capabilities, and if anything, it improved them. Precision! Patience! Endurance! George would just laugh and quirk back, rolling his eyes way too often.

And if Dream played into the offended act more than necessary just to keep that smile, no one had to know. He wasn’t lying—he’d relief anyone of their limbs if they dared to hurt George. But above everything, he’d do whatever to make him happy, whatever to make him giggle, whatever to make him look at Dream the way he did.

~~

Change was difficult to notice when it was gradual. Especially when you were always surrounded by it.

That was why Dream had to do a double take once George pointed it out.

“Are you redecorating or something?” George asked as he glanced around from where they were sitting on ground, replanting a small yucca. It had grown bigger, somehow, and only when George noted it did Dream realize it.

Again, change, hard to spot.

“Uh, what do you mean?” Dream replied, following his line of sight.

“I feel like…” He thought for a moment. “There aren’t as many different colors? Could definitely be wrong, though.”

“Oh.”

Now that George mentioned it, Dream could see it, too. Instead of the vibrant shades of red and orange and pink, hues of blue painted the majority of the blossoms. 

“Huh, you’re right,” he mumbled, taken aback. “Is that a bad thing?”

“No, I like it, actually.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Blue’s a nice color.”

That... didn’t come as a surprise, which in and of itself was a surprise. They’d never before discussed colors, after all. Maybe George just had that feel about him. That was probably it.

Dream just hummed as he continued pressing down on the fresh dirt in the new pot, George on the other side doing the same. A silence settled over them, a different one than usually. This one wasn’t deafening, but soft and comforting. It was odd; Dream had gotten so used to the coldness of quiet, he hadn’t considered it could be warm, too.

“Your hair has gotten longer,” George remarked as they were washing away the grime.

“Oh, has it?” Dream ran a wet hand through it. He couldn’t tell.

“You really need a mirror around here, Dream.” George dried off with a towel. “But yeah. Definitely longer.”

“And? What do you think about it?”

George scrutinized him before reaching up and twirling a stray lock between his fingers, tilting his head to the side. Dream’s breath caught in his throat, and he didn't move.

“Mmh, I liked it shorter,” George said, quieter.

Dream forced his tongue to move as a chuckle went past his lips. “Oh yeah? Will you cut it for me, then, Georgie?”

“Maybe. Why not.” He shrugged. “It could use some touching up. Another time, though.”

George tucked the lock behind his ear and moved to drop his hand, but Dream caught it before he could. To both of their surprise. George looked at him, curious, but he didn’t pull away, so Dream didn’t either. He lowered their hands, still holding on, and swallowed down the rising anxiety. 

“I-I wanted to show you something,” he said, clearing his throat. Yeah, an explanation. An excuse.

“Alright.”

Dream nodded and turned to lead them through the dome. The way their hands were loosely intertwined, falling somewhere between them, was doing weird things to his insides. It wasn’t uncomfortable by any means, but the contact was so acutely there, hot and solid, and from it, heat spread under his skin. Dream was avoiding looking at George in fear he’d embarrass himself by how flushed his face was getting. It was so small, so insignificant, and yet all corners of his mind were invaded by the feel of Geroge’s hand against his own.

He took them to the farthest point, where the largest plants grew. Dream had always thought those huge leaves could serve another purpose. And when once the whiteness had gotten too bright, he’d found it. Finding some string and wooden poles hadn’t been an issue, and soon enough, he’d built himself a corner. Hidden away from the blaring void.

A little retreat, when it all got too much. When he wanted to close his eyes and not see the backs of his eyelids.

George gave him an amused glance as Dream held up the makeshift front for them to get in. It was barely wide enough for two people, and they had to sit crossed-legged so close to each other that their knees touched. Not that Dream minded. Not that George looked like he did.

“Well, this is cozy,” George said with a small grin.

It wasn’t dark by any means; the many gaps in those tied together leaves provided ample lighting, but it was the best Dream could do. And for now, it was enough.

“Sometimes the light gives me a headache,” he chuckled, soft.

“I can imagine. It’s horrendous.”

“Yeah. Wish I had a lightswitch or something.”

“Ooh, mood lighting would be nice,” George giggled. “With all those flowers, maybe a candle, too. Would be very romantic.”

His heart fluttered, and he couldn’t keep a grin from twisting his lips. “Is this not enough for you, Georgie?”

“Could be better. Awfully cramped. No roses. I give it a five out of ten.”

“Oh c’mon, George, don’t be like that. I’m trying so hard here.”

George huffed, rolling his eyes. “This is you trying? Surely you can do better than that, Dream.”

“What, do you want me to?” Dream laughed, and even to himself it sounded far away.

“Maybe,” he teased, and Dream still couldn’t understand how he always managed to sound so unaffected. “Unless you’re too scared,” he snickered.

“I’m not scared of anything,” Dream protested immediately, almost as if his tongue was working on muscle memory. “Are you challenging me or something?”

“Or something.” There was a twinkle in George’s eye. “C’mon, Dream, give me your best shot.”

George looked different in the shadows. Light fell through the gaps on him at odd places, a stripe here, a blotch there. A mismatched canvas of sorts, where bright paint was spilled on accident. Not ruining the painting, though. Making it a sight, a secret almost, only for his eyes alone.

Dream’s unsteady hand reached out to him and traced one of those lit bands down his cheek until finally coming to rest under his jaw, feather-light. George nuzzled into it, sighing. He was warm beneath his touch, so very warm, and when Dream caressed him and George shut his eyes with a hum, Dream melted. He never wanted to see anything else but that soft expression, never wanted it gone from his mind. And it was because of Dream, _it was because of Dream._

And then those sweet eyes opened, and they looked at him, so inviting, and Dream’s mind quieted. As if a dial had been turned down, leaving behind no thoughts but just them, there, then, and the space in between. Dream stilled. A heavy force was pulling him in, as if the center of gravity had shifted, and he had no hopes of resisting. Nor the will to.

George glided his teeth along his bottom lip, and all air escaped Dream. Something hot constricted in his throat, something he couldn’t swallow. He was deaf to everything but George’s soft breaths, numb to everything but the warm skin beneath his fingertips, blind to anything but his eyes, his nose, his cheeks, his lips. All so very close.

It was forever and a beat until he closed the gap between them.

Somewhere, at the back of his head, it felt like a mistake. Like burning a bridge after crossing, not knowing what laid on the other side. A sensation he had never been meant to experience. But the bridge was ablaze, and he couldn’t look away, and George wasn’t pulling back, and the flames roared higher. 

Dream would happily burn that bridge over and over, just to have him next to him, here, right now.

It had been barely anything more than a peck, and yet it left Dream’s head spinning once it broke off. Tentative, he fluttered his eyes open and was met with a grinning George, a flush dusted across his cheeks.

If there was one sight he could retain after death, it’d be this one.

“Alright, Dream,” George spoke, reaching up to grasp Dream’s wrist, stroking the back of his palm. Dream took delight in how hushed he sounded. How fluttery. “It’s a six.”

It took a few moments for his mind to catch up, but when it did, Dream couldn’t help huffing.

“Oh, you’re so stupid,” he breathed out, and leaned in back to lay kisses on the corner of George’s mouth, making him giggle. He trailed up, along his cheeks, temple, forehead, all the while George winded his free arm around Dream’s neck, pulling him closer, laughing.

“Dream, you—you’re gonna make us fall!”

“Then don’t lean back, idiot,” Dream grumbled against his skin. “And it is so not a six.”

“I’ll perhaps consider a seven.”

“ _George_ ,” he whined. “I’m not letting go ‘till it’s a ten.”

“Guess we’ll be here awhile, then,” George murmured, a teasing smile in his voice.

And if it never reached that point, Dream would have been fine with it. If he could fill his ears with George’s laughs for the rest of eternity, he would.

~~

Tracking time was a difficult task when the sky was white and no clocks were around.

Still, though, Dream could tell George’s visits were growing rarer.

He’d ask about it, but George would always wave it off. He’d apologize, say he’d just been busy, and Dream would take it. He’d tried to pry, a couple of times, get something out of him, but George would tense, a frown etch onto his pretty lips, and he’d assure Dream it was nothing to worry about.

George would then pull him in, and, well. Dream let it be.

It was nice to know that, at the very least, he could provide George with a reprieve from… whatever was bothering him. 

When George came this time, Dream could tell something was more off than usual. Face pale, hunched over, a defeated look in his eyes. He leaned against the door, burying his head in his hands, and sighed. The void seemed dimmer, more washed out, and something uncomfortable churned in Dream’s chest. His nerves tingled, as if in preparation, on high alert, but he pushed the shakiness in his bones down. Now was not the time, now George was upset, so he gathered him in his arms and whispered reassurances, sweet nothings. George relaxed in his hold, laid his head on Dream’s shoulder, and only listened.

Eventually, he clutched Dream’s front and pulled him down, capturing in a slow kiss. Dream followed, and let him drag out every move, every press, like thick honey with an undertone of tar. He followed, until he ran out of breath, and had to pull away. George had his eyes shut, still holding onto Dream, knuckles turning white. Dream ran his hands up George’s sides, gentle, trying to soothe him.

“Are you okay?” he murmured.

Instead of answering, George looked up at him and ran a hand through Dream hair. Dream couldn’t read him.

“We should get that cut already,” he said, voice hushed. “Come on, I saw a mirror somewhere here the other day.”

Dream wanted to protest, he wanted to beg for George to tell him what was wrong, but he kept his mouth shut and only nodded.

Dream stared at the mirror before them. He watched as hair fell from sharpened scissors, careful hands clipping away the overgrown locks. His eyes travelled up, to George behind him, and trailed across his face. The mirror wasn’t the clearest, and yet he could see every feature, every inch of skin, every eyelash, every purse of lips.

Their gazes met, and for a moment, the blades stilled. The second passed, and those brown eyes fell back, the silence filled with snipping once more.

“It gets lonely.” He heard himself speak.

Why did he speak? He should have kept quiet.

The scissors didn’t stop.

“Without you, I mean.”

It needed a clarification. Maybe.

Now it just sounded awkward, though.

A hum wrapped around him. An acknowledgement of sorts.

“Tell me about it.”

He couldn’t contain a surprised laugh.

“Tell you—You want me to tell you about it?”

“Why not?”

“I—” He sighed. “Seriously?”

A shrug. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

He wanted to frown. He didn’t.

“Yeah, I don’t—” he cut himself off, tearing his eyes away from the mirror. He licked his lips. They’ve been getting drier lately. “I mean—I don’t know. I’m just saying things.”

“That you are,” George remarked. He couldn’t tell if it had an edge of a laugh or an edge of a bite. He couldn’t tell anything today.

“I like saying things. I like talking.”

Another hum. Of acknowledgement. Or something.

“Only when you’re around, though. I don’t talk to myself. I could, but I don’t. I don’t know. I don’t know why. I could.”

“Do you want to?”

For another moment, they looked at each other.

Dream licked his lips again.

“I just forget how it sounds,” he admitted. Quieter. “When you’re not around. I forget what it’s supposed to sound like. Talking.”

George snorted at this with a roll of his eyes. “You’re getting all weird again, Dream. Knock it off.”

“How is it weird?”

“Sounds awfully like co-dependence to me.”

He wasn’t sure what that meant.

“Is that… bad?”

George didn’t answer, and instead just sighed, running a hand through his hair to get any loose locks out.

“Well then, go on, tell me about this loneliness of yours.”

This time, he thought it must have had an edge of mocking. Teasing?

He frowned. “Are you making fun of me?”

“No.” A pause. “Maybe a little. It’s pretty funny.”

He scoffed and turned away again.

“Oh, stop pouting, you’re so dramatic.”

He glanced back, and there was a ghost of a smile on his lips, so he relaxed his tense shoulders. Anything for a smile.

“I just miss you,” he murmured. “We don’t meet often.”

He didn’t say anything. For awhile, the silence was filled only with clipping.

“Sorry about that,” George said, a strange edge to the words. “It’s… I’m busy often.”

“I know, you’ve said it. I wasn’t complaining. Just, y’know.”

“What?”

“I guess, just wish you weren’t. That busy, I mean.”

George pulled the scissors away. In the mirror, his expression was strained.

“It does get really lonely,” Dream all but whispered, refusing to let his eyes wander away. “Before you came, I—I had had no idea what that even was.

“What, so it’s my fault now?” George asked, voice high-strung.

“No!” he immediately protested, turning around in the chair to look directly at him. “No, no, of course not, that’s not what I meant.”

George exhaled through his nose, glancing to the side for a second, before tossing the scissors on the counter next to them. He moved in front of Dream, folding his arms.

“What _did_ you mean, then?”

His mouth was dry. Words fell flat on his tongue, not making past it any further. Loneliness wasn’t something he could just… Admitting to it was already, in his book, much more than he’d ever wanted to do, but he couldn’t take it back now. Nor did he want to. But what exactly was pulling at his heart so, what was filling his chest, what was clouding his _empty dishevelled too full_ mind; he couldn’t voice it.

Instead, Dream shook his head and pulled him down onto his lap. He snaked his arms around George’s waist and buried himself in the crook of his neck. A soft sigh next to his ear washed over him, and a hand found itself in his hair, threading through the freshly-cut locks. Dream melted further into the embrace.

“You’re so clingy,” George murmured, and Dream could feel the vibrations from his chest. It was meant to be a teasing remark, Dream knew, but it had no bite to it.

Dream didn’t respond. As long as George didn’t push him away, he could say whatever he wanted.

The seconds stretched, and Dream chased the momentary bliss they brought. The momentary warmth. Soon, it’d all be back to numbing nothingness, not a degree above or below. In it, he couldn’t imagine anything else, but now, with George pressed up against him, the mere thought made his insides seize up with dread.

Anything but to go back to that.

“What am I to do with you?” George exhaled. For who the question was meant, Dream couldn’t tell.

The word was out of his mouth before he could take a breath.

“Stay,” he said, his already quiet voice muffled.

He knew it was the wrong answer. He could taste the bitterness the moment it settled on his tongue.

George’s hand stilled, and the atmosphere shifted. Dream wanted to berate himself— _stupid stupid stupid_ —, wanted to back track, but all his strained mind could do was wait for a response, for anything, body so high-strung it could snap at a moment’s notice.

“...Dream, no, I can’t.”

He should just take it; George didn’t sound mad, he didn’t sound upset, he should take it and be thankful.

His arms around George’s body tightened.

“Why not?” he pressed, the bitterness growing stronger, borderline acidic.

“It’s not right, you know it’s not,” George said, words unsteady, as he retracted his hand and tried to pull away.

Dream latched on harder, now less hugging and more grasping.

“No, please, don’t,” he choked out.

“Dream, let go of me.”

He shook his head. A tremble had settled in his bones.

“ _Dream_.”

“Please, don’t leave me, I—I can’t, I’m—I’m sorry, just don’t—”

“Hey, look at me.”

A pause. Slowly, with his body protesting, Dream tore his head away and lifted it to meet George. His expression was taut, lips pressed into a tight line, but it softened once their eyes locked. He brought his hands up and cupped Dream’s face.

“I’m not leaving you, alright?” he said, and though it sounded stern, there was a gentleness to it. “But you can’t be like this. I know you’re upset, but me staying here won’t make it better. I know you know that.”

Dream shut his eyes and exhaled a shuddering breath. Did he have to know? Did he? Couldn’t he pretend, for a little while, that everything _would_ be okay if he simply wasn’t alone?

And besides.

“But wouldn’t it—wouldn’t it make it better for _you_?” Dream asked, desperate.

He frowned at that. “What do you mean?”

“George, I’m not _blind_ , whatever’s out there is hurting you,” he pleaded. “And I can’t stand seeing it! You know that—nothing would ever hurt you here, it’s—you’d be _safe_ here.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “That’s all I want.”

George exhaled a deep sigh, closing his eyes. He ran a hand down his face, groaning.

“God, Dream, you… You mean well, I know, but you just don’t get it _at all._ ”

“What don’t I get? You’re—”

“I’m hurting here too, Dream!” George bit out, tearing himself away and back on his feet. He levelled him with a glare. “I have been from day fucking one.”

A stunned silence settled over them. George winced after speaking, regret flashing across his face, but he remained standing firm, hands fisted by his sides.

His mind was blank.

“I don’t…” He sounded foreign to himself. Slowly, he rose up too. “I don’t understand.” 

“Of course you don’t,” George grumbled, glancing away. “I don’t expect you to.”

“I—I’m sorry.”

He didn’t know what else to say. His tongue had grown dry.

George shook his head with a weak laugh, his shoulder slumping. “You don’t remember anything, do you. Throughout all this time, you didn’t remember a single thing, did you.”

Words refused to form in his throat. Something was clawing at it, digging into the marrow of his bones, and the tremble from before was back.

“I should never have come back,” George continued talking, scowling, an acidic bitterness in his voice. “I know I promised I wouldn’t look for you, but were just—here, and I couldn’t… I couldn’t stay away, and that was so _stupid_ of me.”

Hotness prickled at the corners of Dream’s eyes and he tried to blink away the haziness.

The white was getting so blinding.

“George, please—” He inhaled a shaking breath. “Please, just tell me—what did I do wrong?”

A pained expression settled on George’s face, and he looked back at Dream, mournful.

“You didn’t do anything wrong, Dream,” he said, softer. “I—”

An agonized gasp cut him off, and he shot up to clutch at his head, shutting his eyes in pain. Dream on instinct took a step forward, but George scrambled back, and that hurt more than anything else.

“How—” George heaved. “How am I supposed to talk to you when you don’t want to hear it so badly? I haven’t even said anything and you’re—you’re already pushing me out.” He choked on a cry. “God, it hurts _so bad_.”

Dream hadn’t noticed how much the world was spinning. Short, irregular puffs of air were making him grow dizzy, body paralyzed. But amidst the growing panic, worry tore his way through. This was familiar, and the burning acid from the memory screamed louder than the stinging dread.

He was trying to get George away. To get him out. Anything to stop any thoughts, to lessen the blaring light.

But that was so stupid, and anger at himself flared. He didn’t want George out, he knew he didn’t, and now George was hurting because Dream was incapable of controlling himself? That just wouldn’t do, it wouldn’t, _it wouldn’t, it wouldn’t, knock it off stop calm yourself you idiot stop it_

Painfully slowly, George’s pants lessened, and though he was still holding his head, his eyes fluttered open, grimacing at the bright light.

_good stop it you’re fine he’s fine it’s okay_

“I…” George began with a slight rasp, looking at the ground. “I wanted… I wanted to talk to you so many times. To explain or to plead or something, but whenever I—whenever I was prepared for it, I couldn’t get in. You wouldn’t let me in. You knew somehow. You can be freaky like that, I guess.”

He lowered his hand, and finally glanced up at Dream.

_deep breaths, in and out, don’t lose your cool now_

He had to keep talking to himself. He had to keep filling his head with thoughts that wouldn’t make everything around him crumble.

“I tried to bring Sapnap over, too,” George confessed, quiet. “After the first time. He hadn’t believed me. I still don't know if he does. I tried to bring him, but… He’s still angry with you, and you knew that, didn’t you? So there was nothing more than—" He gestured around. "—an abandoned greenhouse. You just… shut off again.”

He had, and the realization was startling. Those had been odd times. The air would feel too thick, the space too small, the pressure too heavy on his body, and he’d stand there, frozen, too afraid to take a breath, until the sensation passed and the void settled. He’d shake it off, and forget it’d ever happened.

“I—I didn’t know what to do. I thought that, maybe, if I kept coming, maybe you’d…” George trailed off, sighing. “And maybe you would, if there was more time, but… I—I’m sorry, but I don’t have any left.”

A pounding behind his eyes had set in, and he tried so hard to suppress the shaking, however in vain.

“What do you mean?” he asked, barely audible.

“I have to leave, Dream. I can’t stay here, I have to—” He swallowed, wincing. “I have to go far away. Guess you aren’t the only one people would rather chase out,” he finished with an empty laugh.

There was no water in his lungs, and yet he was drowning.

“I should go, Sapnap’s probably getting worried,” George mumbled as he turned and took a step towards the door.

An electric spark shot through his body, and a moment later Dream had latched onto George’s wrist.

“Wait,” he breathed. The words scraped against his throat. “Y-You—What—What am I supposed to do?”

George looked at him, and his guarded expression from long before was back up. Dream couldn’t pick up anything.

“There’s a stronghold you found years ago, that one winter,” he spoke. “You’ll find us there. At least, for awhile. Do what you want with that.”

And like that, it was cold again. Long after he’d been left alone, he was still standing there, rooted in place, as the light bleached all the colors around him. As all sounds faded, and he grew numb to the air on his skin, he continued staring at the door, so far away, mocking him.

He thought he heard a crack from up above.

~~

George sprinted through the snow, leaving behind much-too-obvious tracks. He couldn’t worry about that now, though; his priority was to _get the hell away._ He knew they shouldn’t have gone out this far. Of course there would have been patrols all around, because why would the universe let them catch a break? It’d been biting at his heels for months now, why let up now?

Sapnap was somewhere to the side, a bit ahead, and George wondered if they should split up. He wasn’t hearing anyone from behind him, so chances were they’d already gone out of sight, but those guards were stubborn. Especially when they were in the middle of a _snowy taiga_. Maybe they could have turned and tried to fight them off, but since they’d only planned on snatching some supplies from a nearby village, they’d gone out woefully unprepared.

In hindsight, they definitely should have used better disguises. Who could have guessed a couple of wanted war criminals would be easily recognizable?

Eventually, his lungs began threatening to collapse, so, once he got over a hill, he slowed, glancing behind him to make sure he couldn’t see anyone. Sapnap jogged up next to him, panting.

“We really—” he heaved, leaning against his knees. “—need to get the hell out of this snow.”

“We need to find a road.” George unclasped his water bottle and jugged it down. It was ice cold. “Otherwise they’ll just follow us all the way.”

Sapnap swore, straightening. “Why are they so damn persistent? We left the country, what more do they want?”

“Bragging rights, probably,” George scowled, reattaching the container. “Maybe they’re afraid we’ll try to retaliate.”

“Right, as if we’re—” Sapnap cut himself off as he looked over by the trees, eyes growing wide, and pushed them to the side. “Look out!”

Not a moment later a bolt whizzed past their heads, and George whipped around. Further back behind them, partly hidden by a thick spruce, stood a lone soldier, readying his crossbow for another shot. How he hadn’t heard him, George couldn’t tell, but the way his blood was pounding in his ears probably had something to do with it. The two turned to dash away, but in that split second, the man gasped, his weapon clattering to the forest floor. They watched, stunned, as he buckled down to the floor, a couple of arrows protruding from his chest.

On guard, the two of them exchange glances, tense, before the crunching of snow caught their attention. Away from the fallen soldier, from in between firs, a cloaked figure emerged, a lowered bow in hands. It put it away as it approached them, slow, stepping around the man on the ground. Next to George, Sapnap had taken a defensive stance, hand on the hilt of his sheathed sword, but George stood frozen. He could only watch as the figure stopped some paces away from them, somewhat still in the shadows, and, a beat later, pulled down the hood.

A choked cry broke through his lips, a hand flying to his mouth, as a mask he hadn’t seen in years greeted them. He heard Sapnap’s breath hitch, but he couldn’t take his eyes away from who stood in front of them, his posture oddly awkward. A moment passed, and he pulled off the mask, hanging it away on one of his many belts.

“Sorry, that one had gotten away from me,” he spoke, gesturing towards the laying man with his head. “I’m still a little rusty, I guess.”

He looked different from when George had last seen him. Disregarding the bloodied clothes, the little red blotches in his ruffled hair, he was _standing_ different, straighter, not constantly shifting his weight. Head held higher, eyes brighter, without that mist that’d always cloud them, and just more… Here. Still hesitant, though. His words were clear, but the tone betrayed the underlying uneasiness.

Not that George could blame him. He, too, would be dying from nerves in Dream’s situation.

The more the silence stretched, the more restless Dream got, but he didn’t speak again. Waiting for the shock to wear off, probably. For them to respond. George couldn’t come up with anything, not with the swarm of thoughts buzzing in his head. Sure, he was the one that told Dream about their whereabouts, but, truthfully, he hadn’t… expected anything to come from it. It was hard to hope for anything when for months this back and forth led nowhere. Not when Dream always seemed so determined to never again step outside of his little “paradise”. Or whatever the hell that was.

But here he was. So maybe it hadn’t all been for nothing.

With a start, Sapnap inhaled sharply, and finally moved. Dream’s eyes flickered to him, and the way anxiety immediately etched onto his face was almost amusing. He crossed the distance between them in a few strides, hands fisted, and punched him square in the face. Dream stumbled back with a pained gasp, almost tripping over a loose branch.

“Alright, yeah, I deserved that,” he said, wincing.

Sapnap was trembling, but, from where he was standing, George couldn’t see his expression, so he had no real idea from what. He raised his hand again, and Dream flinched, shutting his eyes, but instead of delivering another strike, he pulled him into an embrace.

“You bastard,” Sapnap croaked, and buried his face in Dream’s shoulder. “I hate you so much.”

Stunned, it took Dream a few moments to slowly wrap his arms around Sapnap’s back too. His lips twisted into a rueful smile.

“I know,” he murmured. “I’m sorry.”

Sapnap just grunted something, too quiet to hear.

George released a relieved sigh, shoulders slumping. In all honesty, it could have been much worse, so Dream making out of it with just one black eye should be a win in his book. Maybe Sapnap was just too tired from all the running, so he was letting Dream live for now.

In any case, George’s chest grew lighter, and he approached the pair, crossing his arms.

“You’re letting him off surprisingly easily, Sapnap,” he remarked. “He’s still standing.”

“I’ll get to it later,” Sapnap muttered in response, voice muffled by the thick fabric. 

Dream’s laugh at that was high-strung.

Finally, Sapnap pulled away, taking a step back. He stared at Dream in disbelief, mouthing silent words, by the looks of it unable to wrap his head around it all yet. Dream glanced at George in what was a silent plea, but George only lifted his brows at him. _Your problem, deal with it yourself._

“Sapnap, I—”

“Dream—”

They broke off again, and Dream let out a nervous chuckle, reaching up to rub at the side of his neck.

“You go,” he said. “Sorry.”

Sapnap shook his head, pulling a face. “Dream, what— _what_ the hell _happened_?”

“That’s, uh, a very good question! I’m… not sure?”

“I swear to god, Dream, I’ll beat you to a pulp if you pull this shit.”

George couldn’t help snickering at that. Dream glared at him.

“I’m—Okay, listen,” he sighed. “It’s all a bit… fuzzy still.”

Sapnap gestured for him to continue. The growing frown wasn’t promising cuddles.

“I—I only know that I had to…” He hesitated. Now _this_ was what George had gotten familiar with. Uncertainty, fear of rejection, anxiety. He wanted to reach out to him, but he stayed rooted in place and waited. “It was all getting so bad, and I just… I—I had to disappear. Get away. Otherwise, they would have—” He cut himself off, swallowing.

Even Sapnap’s expression softened at the display. He sighed, shaking his head.

“That didn’t mean you had to just _abandon_ us. We would have figured something out.”

George was inclined to agree. Even if he’d gotten over his bitterness by now (staying mad at Dream for long was too difficult a task), it would have saved them years of worry. Or maybe not. Who knew what would have happened.

At least they were all alive now.

“I know, and I really am sorry,” Dream promised. “But I knew you’d be fine. Without me, I mean.”

“Fine is a relative word,” George drawled. “We did get banished.”

“I noticed!” Dream glanced back over his shoulder. “You’re really sought after, huh?”

“That’s one way to put it,” Sapnap huffed. “Speaking of, we should really get a move on before they send reinforcements to follow what I’m guessing is a blood trail.”

“Yeah, well, what else is new with Dream around.”

“Hey, not my fault you somehow got a whole horde after you!”

“We’ll discuss our poor decisions later,” Sapnap waved it off. “We need a road, seen any of those around here, Dream?”

“Ah, yeah, just up ahead a bit to the left,” he said, gesturing in the mentioned direction.

“Surprised you still remember that, but I’ll take it.” Sapnap shrugged.

“Indeed surprising,” George hummed.

Dream let out an awkward chuckle at that, scratching his cheek.

George stared at him for a second before turning back to Sapnap.

“Hey, reckon you could go on ahead a bit?” he asked.

Sapnap glanced between the two of them, brows arched.

“Sure, whatever. I’m far from finished with you, though,” he warned Dream, eyes narrowed. “Once my ass isn’t freezing off, you are so done for.”

“A-Alright.”

Sapnap glared at him for a moment longer before turning around with a huff and striding off, mutters following him. Probably considering all the colorful ways he’d curse Dream out when they were back inside.

Dream sighed, relaxing his tense shoulders. George moved next to him and intertwined their hands. Dream looked down at him, smiling, and tightened his hold.

“You got off easier than I’d expected,” George said. “You’re lucky Sapnap’s too tired to fight right now.”

“Yeah, wonder how long that’ll last,” Dream remarked with a sheepish grin.

“I’ll _maybe_ consider telling him off once, _maybe_.”

“Awh, my protector,” Dream cooed, pressing a kiss to George’s hair.

“That’s definitely pushing it.”

Dream giggled, and George gave in, giving him an exasperated smile. He pulled him towards where Sapnap had gone, their pace slow.

Before, Dream would barely take his mask off, keeping his face a guarded secret even from his closest allies. Seeing him in these familiar clothes, worn from battle, without it on was odd. George had half expected him to go back to that. 

Had half dreaded, really.

“I didn’t think you’d show up, really.”

Dream was silent as he watched the snow crunch beneath his boots.

“Honestly? Me neither,” he confessed. “That’s the part I still don’t get. ‘Cause it wasn’t, like, a charm or anything.”

“Huh.”

“I mean, it’s not something that could have been broken.”

“Mhm, makes sense,” George hummed with a nod. “What, then?”

“It felt more, like…” He thought for a beat. “Like it had expired?”

“Expired.”

“Yeah. It sounds weird, but… I dunno.”

“Well, we did lose your land,” George remarked, wincing. “Sorry about that, by the way.”

Dream laughed. “I’m surprised you even fought for it!”

“Why, of course, we’re your staunchest believers, after all,” he said, dry as paper. “Kidding. It was our home, too.”

“Where are the rest?”

“Safe. Somewhere far away, too.”

“That’s good.” Dream fell quiet. “I should have been there.”

“‘Should have done this’, ‘should have done that’, god, Dream, no one cares,” George scoffed, rolling his eyes. “Didn’t you literally just say you had no way of getting out of there before now?”

“Well, yeah, but—”

“Then stop looking like a kicked puppy, it’s disgusting.”

“I feel like you’re meaner to me now,” Dream grumbled.

“Which is a good thing. Worthy of celebration. Walking on eggshells all the time gets really fucking exhausting, you know.”

Dream huffed, but a grin was pulling on his lips. “Alright, fine, whatever, Georgie.”

George shoved him with his shoulder, and Dream retaliated by pulling him closer and pecking his temple. If you could call that retaliation.

A short silence settled, disturbed only by breaking branches and the snow beneath them. George sighed in content, laying his head on Dream’s shoulder.

“Thank you, Dream.”

A beat dropped.

“For what?”

George beamed up at him. “Just for being here.”

The words were light, no hidden secrets, nothing that he couldn’t say. It truly had gotten tiring watching everything that came out of his mouth. One wrong phrase, and it could have all come crashing down.

Dream grinned back at him, pink spreading across his cheeks. No mist, no underlying fear, no hesitancy. “Of course.”

It wasn’t blinding anymore.

**Author's Note:**

> if you have any questions that you'd like answered, drop 'em down below, cause god knows i'm too into vague shit and have no impulse control
> 
> find me @yumgrapejuice on tumblr if ya want wink wink
> 
> also, shoutout to the mcyt valentine's day group chat, y'all are so cool and awesome <3 muah


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